


Do not touch the artwork

by PLISA



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Artist Clarke Griffin, Bellarke, F/M, Security Guard Bellamy Blake, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PLISA/pseuds/PLISA
Summary: He never paid attention to a lot of people, not in the workplace anyway. But, in his defence, it was rather difficult not to notice her.—Or, Bellamy is the security guard at the art gallery Clarke works in.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 155





	Do not touch the artwork

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know where this idea came from, or what exactly this one shot is, but here it is anyway and I hope you like it 😂
> 
> Read the notes at the end for an exciting announcement 👀
> 
> Happy reading!

He had never noticed her before. 

He never noticed a lot of people anyways, especially in the workplace. He normally didn’t pay attention to anyone that wasn’t at a bar, and only when he was in the mood. Not to mention that he wasn’t necessarily at his best by the time the rest of the workers came back to the gallery at 7 am, after having spent all night wandering through empty hallways and watching some videos on his phone. 

But it was difficult not to notice her, in his defence. 

She got there just like every morning, he assumed, but this time she was wearing big, dark sunglasses he swore he had never seen anyone in the staff wear before, and it made him raise a confused eyebrow. It was 7 am, and the sun was definitely not out yet. 

And then he saw it. 

He watched from a distance as she took an energy drink out of her bag, and poured the entire thing on her tall cup of black coffee. He heard her mutter something under her breath before drinking a big gulp, and he tried not to laugh. It was pretty clear that she didn’t want to be there, and she wasn’t exactly too concerned about hiding it. 

He started noticing her more often after that, of course. The girl had essentially drunk a nuclear bomb and she was still alive and kicking. Even though his night shifts didn’t allow him to spend a lot of time around her, he lingered a bit longer in the mornings just to watch what she was doing. 

Okay, perhaps he was being kind of a creep. But he couldn’t help it — she was just  _ hilarious. _

One look at her was enough to know she wasn’t a morning person at all. Not just because of the energy drink and coffee thing, but because she looked miserable every day. Not miserable in a bad way (he couldn’t help but notice she was insanely pretty, too), but she just looked tired, and done with life, and for some reason it was all amusing to him. 

He didn’t think she knew he even existed. He was just the night-shift security guard at the gallery, and he left in the mornings as soon as Miller started his shift at 7 am sharp. She had glanced over at him a couple of times, sent an apologetic smile his way once. But he doubted she kept an eye on him like he did on her. 

It was a shame, really, because he had this feeling that they would really get along. But oh well. 

It wasn’t until one week later that he learned her name. Clarke Griffin was a part-time art teacher in the afternoons, and worked at the gallery in the mornings to get some extra cash to eventually open her own studio. Apparently she was good friends with Miller, and they’d make small talk when the gallery wasn’t too crowded. 

And then, after another week of seeing her tired face in the mornings and exchanging curious but silent stares, he finally met her. 

Miller had some family thing going on that week, and he asked him to exchange shifts. At first he agreed and thought nothing of it, but then it hit him. He would be seeing her. 

He wasn’t nervous, not really. But it almost felt like meeting a celebrity. After having watched her from afar for so long, almost as if they were in two completely different worlds, he was finally going to stand face to face with her. He wore some cologne that day, just because. 

Walking into the gallery during the day felt weird, but he was feeling weirdly excited nonetheless. He greeted Miller as he walked out, and then he spotted her right away. 

Clarke Griffin was pouring yet another energy drink into her dark coffee, which he feared had become a routine by now, and this time he couldn’t help himself. 

“Interesting choice of beverage,” he said over her shoulder, momentarily startling her. 

“Jeez,” she jumped, but immediately relaxed when her eyes laid on his guard uniform, “It’s actually quite tasty. Wanna try?”

He smirked, “Not feeling like going into cardiac arrest today, so I’ll pass.”

She rolled her eyes at him as she took a sip, but he noticed that the corners of her lips were tilted upwards into a small smile. 

“Aren’t you the guard with the night shift?”, she arched a confused eyebrow. 

“I’m covering for a friend today,” he told her, “Why? Keeping tracks on every worker?”

“Just making sure everyone is accounted for.”

“Right,” he smirked, and noticed that her cheeks were slightly flushed, “I think I should go get ready. But I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, definitely, um…”

“Bellamy.”

She smiled, “Clarke.”

He already knew that, but he wasn’t going to tell her. 

“Pretty name,” he resisted the urge to wink at her. It would’ve been too much. 

She gave him an amused look, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to, really. He already couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

He watched her discreetly as she prepared the weekly exhibition with some of her colleagues, how she greeted visitors and over explained every piece to the point where they’d start yawning, but she never seemed to notice. It was clear as day that she was passionate about art, about telling stories. He wondered then what her own art would look like. Beautiful, probably. 

Just like her. 

Her blonde hair looked unbelievably shiny, her fair skin smooth as silk. She always wore the plainest outfits to work, and yet she looked like a goddess in every single one of them. She filled every inch of cloth with her curves, curves he was  _ definitely _ not checking out. 

It wasn’t his fault. Nobody really ever made a scene in art galleries, so it wasn’t like he had a lot of work to do. Sure, he would remind visitors every now and again not to get too close to the paintings, but that was pretty much about it. But whatever — the salary was great, and that History degree wasn’t going to pay itself. 

His shift ended, and so did hers, and he had been about to ask her for a coffee (without the energy drink), when she suddenly disappeared. One minute she was at the front desk, chatting lively with one of her colleagues, and the next she was gone. And so was his chance. 

It was okay, really. He had finals to study for, a sister to check on, and a roommate to bug. He would be alright. 

“We should go pick up some chicks,” Jasper suggested on one of his free nights. 

Beer in hand, he glanced over at the clock. It was almost midnight, and definitely a bit too late to go to the bar. But Murphy agreed next to him, and so did Monty, and ten minutes later he found himself in his car, actually driving to Grounders. 

He couldn’t believe they had managed to drag him out  _ again _ . It happened every time he had a free night — he would say he wanted to have a chill night in, and the next minute some girl was shoving her tongue down his throat against the wall of some sketchy Arkadia bar. 

Whatever. 

What — or who — he wasn’t expecting to see that night, however, was none other than his sister. 

“O?”, he raised a confused eyebrow as he walked over the tipsy woman, “What are you doing here?”

“Harper!”, she exclaimed before throwing her head back in laughter at something Emori had just whispered in her ear. 

Harper, right. She was Monty’s girlfriend, a new addition to their group he didn’t know very well. They couldn’t have said more than two words to each other, he didn’t think. But he guessed she was nice enough if she put up with Octavia. 

That night, however, he chose to ignore his sister. Octavia wasn’t the most coherent when she was drunk, attentive either. She had probably already forgotten she had seen him just a second ago. 

His eyes then scanned the bar, hoping to find the three friends he had come with, but he found her instead. 

Clarke was sitting on a nearby booth, chatting with Harper and Maya, and his confusion only grew worse when he spotted his friends sitting down at their same table. 

He walked over there too, carefully, as if his eyes still couldn’t believe what they had just seen. When she tilted her head up, her blue eyes locked with his for a second, and then she seemed to relax into her seat. 

“Security guard guy,” she smiled easily before taking a sip of her red drink. 

“Art gallery girl,” he smirked back. 

“Wait,” Harper frowned, “You know each other?”

Clarke hummed, “Bellamy’s the guard who does the night shifts.”

So she remembered his name. That certainly had to mean something — that she thought he was nice, at least. 

“Oh!,” Harper exclaimed in realisation. She turned to him, and smiled, “I work there, too, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“I normally leave just as you guys are coming in,” he told her, sitting down right across from Clarke. Murphy passed him a tall, cold beer. 

“That must be tough, doing night shifts,” Harper said. 

He shrugged nonchalantly, “You get used to it.”

“You can always try my special drink if you’re struggling to stay awake,” Clarke smirked, and he saw something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She was being playful,  _ teasing _ him. For a second, they almost looked like good, old friends. 

“I’ll hit you up if I ever want to die,” he smirked back. She laughed at his words, which made his heart jump. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds, probably longer than they should have, and he tried not to think about what he’d do to her if they weren’t in public. 

He mentally shook his head. He was just horny, and they barely knew each other. Not that such a fact had ever stopped him before, but this felt different. She didn’t look like the type of girl who did one night stands and casual flings, so he probably shouldn’t be getting his hopes up. 

But by the time he finished his fourth beer, his thoughts were getting a little blurry. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t completely sober either, and he feared his own stupid intentions and his current inability to make coherent decisions would get the best of him. 

Clarke was playing darts with Octavia, Emori and Harper, and he found himself staring at her. Or at a certain part of her anatomy, to be precise. 

Murphy crept up behind him, “You’re looking at her.”

“I’m not,” he quickly said, averting his gaze away. 

“But your eyes are on her,” he pointed out. 

“They aren’t,” he insisted, sternly, “I just happen to be looking in that direction.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuck you, Murphy.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” he smirked before walking away again in Emori’s direction. 

He weighed his options. He could walk up to her right now, buy her a drink, and see where the night would take them. To his bed, he was hoping for. But if she had absolutely no interest in him, it would be borderline embarrassing. Not so much because they would see each other at work, even if only briefly, but because he was quite interested in her, perhaps more than he should, and...it would hurt. 

It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it would hurt. 

He eventually decided that keeping his distance from her wouldn’t make anything happen for better or for worse, so in an act of determination he stood up, and made his way towards the girl. 

When she spotted him, she flashed him an easy smile that made his heart flutter. He chose to ignore it. 

“Having fun?”, he asked her casually, trying not to sound too eager, too desperate. 

“I’m not really good at this, but I guess so,” she half-chuckled just as Octavia earned yet another 50 points. She cheered behind them, completely ignoring the fact that he had just turned up. Bellamy knew she was definitely going to have a killer hangover the next morning. 

“Here”, he carefully took the dart from her small fingers, “Let me show you a couple things,” he smirked. 

Clarke stiffened as his hand touched hers, a sudden spark of something bolting through her bones. She didn’t say anything as he aimed at the target, sent the dart flying, and hit the bullseye. 

“You make it look easy”, she told him, trying hard not to bite her lower lip at the way the muscles in his arm flexed when he moved. For a second, she thought his eyes had quickly roamed her body from head to toe, but she immediately pushed the idea aside. She was just not thinking clearly. 

Bellamy shrugged, and let out a low chuckle that almost sounded shy. The sound did something to her, and she subconsciously rubbed her legs together. 

_ No.  _

_ Stop it.  _

Clarke spent the rest of the night  _ not  _ thinking about him. Or, at least, convincing herself that her mind was in the right place and down on Earth. Now that she knew he was Octavia’s brother, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to see him more often. She certainly wouldn’t mind it. They seemed to have mutual friends now, as well, and it planted a dangerous idea in her mind. 

He wasn’t just the security guy she saw two seconds a day anymore. He was Bellamy, a now seemingly constant member of her circle. 

She couldn’t decide whether that was a blessing or a curse. 

Neither of them made a move that night. They didn’t cross any line that went beyond exchanging knowing stares, discrete lip-biting, or checking each other out when the other wasn’t looking. Murphy teased him about it, saying how he  _ so  _ was looking at her, but he brushed it off and cursed under his breath. 

But for the next couple of days, all he could do was think about her, think about how stupid he had been for not even asking her for her number. 

They saw each other briefly in the mornings, but she was almost always immediately forced to start working, and they couldn’t have exchanged more than two words in total. 

That was until Friday night. 

Trikru Gallery was one of the fanciest places one could visit not just in Arkadia, but in the whole state. He didn’t even know it existed before he started working there, but he had never been a frequent visitor of uptight galleries and parties, anyway. And yet when he learned that he would be working that night, he didn’t even bring himself to make up an excuse. What if she had been asked to work during the party, too? He wouldn’t miss the chance this time. 

He didn’t see her at first. He spotted Harper, dressed in a sleeveless blouse and a tight skirt, but she was all alone, surrounded by a group of men and women who definitely didn’t have so many things to say about that particular abstract painting, but did anyway. 

_ Snobs _ . 

By the time an hour had passed, all his hopes went out of the window. But oh well, he was there to work anyway — at least now he would actually be able to concentrate. 

Just when he had convinced himself that he wasn’t at all disappointed, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair by the corner of his eye. Sure enough, a stunning Clarke Griffin walked in wearing a jaw-dropping black dress, matching heels. He took his eyes off her before it would be too late, but it indeed was. He heard her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she made her way up to him, and he braced himself. 

“Bellamy,” she smiled up at him. She looked even more spectacular up-close, “I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

He swallowed, “I didn’t expect to see you, either.”

“Disappointed?”, she arched an amused eyebrow. 

“Quite the opposite, actually,” he smirked, but immediately freaked out when he realised how smug he had sounded. He cleared his voice to hide his embarrassment, “So, what exactly are you doing here?”

She blushed, “Actually, um, one of my pictures is on display.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened in amazement, “Oh, wow,” he smiled at how flustered she looked, “I’d love to take a look at it later, if you want me to.”

“Really?”, she almost sounded surprised, “I’d love to show it to you,” she smiled softly at him. His heart jumped, his breath hitched. 

“I’ll catch you later, then.”

Clarke nodded, momentarily forgetting that he was actually there to work. But of course he was. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t noticed that stupid guard uniform and how good it fitted him, hugged all his muscles in just the right way. When did it get so damn hot in there?

She waved him goodbye, trying to come back to Earth, and headed over towards Harper, who couldn’t have looked more bored if she had tried. She couldn’t really blame her. Listening to Kane and Pike going back and forth about anti-essentialism wasn’t her ideal Friday night plan, either. 

A few people congratulated her on her piece throughout the night, asking her about her inspiration and motivation to come up with such an intricate concept. She felt overwhelmed by all the attention, and she almost passed out when Thelonious Jaha talked to her about actually purchasing it. But one encouraging thumbs-up from Harper managed to get her through the evening. 

Everything was going smoothly, far more perfect that she could have ever imagined, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was so close, and so far away at the same time. Forbidden but not really. 

She guessed he had to be bored out of his mind. The party wasn’t very crowded anyway, and she knew none of those rich people would get into any kind of trouble. So, at some point during the night, after having a couple of glasses of champagne herself, she took one full, tall glass, and headed in the direction she knew he would be in. 

She wasn’t drunk, but she wasn’t completely sober either — hence the bravery, she guessed. She adjusted her tight dress for good measure before turning on the corner, and sure enough, Bellamy stood tall against a wall, looking right ahead at nothing in particular. When he heard her heels clicking down the hall, he immediately turned his head and locked his eyes with hers. 

She should’ve probably felt self-conscious, but she didn’t. Bellamy’s eyes scanning her body so openly, almost as if he didn’t care to get caught anymore, was lifting up her confidence in a way she’d never known. She liked how he made her feel, even if he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on her. 

“Hey, stranger,” she smiled widely, holding the glass up at him. 

Bellamy’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly replaced his initial surprise with his signature, easy smile, “Having fun, I assume.”

She shrugged, “I’d have more fun if you were there.”

“Is that so?”, he ignored the way his heart was pounding inside his chest.

She hummed, and passed him the glass. When he gave her a confused look, she rolled her eyes, “Drink.”

He almost chuckled, “I don’t you if you’ve noticed that I’m working, Princess.”

Her knees weakened at the nickname, but she quickly pulled herself together, “All I’ve noticed is that you look miserable,” he almost complained, but she interrupted him, “Come on, Bellamy. Just one sip. It’s  _ exquisite _ .”

He snorted, and looked carefully between the drink and her, “Are you really that drunk, Clarke?”

“Of course I’m not!”, she frowned, “Come on, drink.”

“Just a sip.”

“Just a sip.”

Bellamy couldn’t believe he was doing this, but again, the hall was completely empty and he was bored as hell. He had only accepted so eagerly to come because he hoped to see her there, and now that he had, he was going to make the most of it. Even if it meant drinking alcohol at the workplace. Whatever. A little sip never killed nobody.

His mouth touched the sparkly liquid, and she couldn’t peel her eyes off him. His lips were all wet and shiny from the liquid, and she felt a strange magnet pulling her towards him. She mentally shook her head, and convinced herself that the alcohol was taking the best of her. He was working, and she should probably be convincing Jaha to buy her piece. And yet there she was, lost in his dark, mysterious eyes, and about to this incredibly stupid thing. 

However, when Bellamy handed the drink back to her, she snapped out of it, “It’s good,” he licked his lips, and she started to think he was actually doing it on purpose just to tease her. 

“Yeah, um,” she looked down at the barely touched champagne, and debated whether to just drink it all up herself in one gulp. But she decided against it, “I have to go back.”

“Sure,” Bellamy said nonchalantly, “Is the offer to go see your picture still up?”

“Of course,” she smiled, and didn’t feel strong enough to say another word, so she just walked away and back into the crowd. 

Harper had to leave half an hour later, and while the party had started to die down, the circle that surrounded Clarke didn’t seem to be in any kind of rush to go back home. While she was grateful to be showered with all the attention, compliments, and offers, she really was exhausted. And drunk.  _ Mildly  _ drunk. To her defence, everyone around her didn’t seem to be in a much better estate, so she guessed she simply merged in perfectly.    
  


It didn’t take her much effort to convince Thelonious Jaha to buy her abstract piece, as he was pretty much convinced since he laid eyes on it. Clarke mentally let out a relieved sigh — she liked to think she was good enough, but to actually be showcased like that was a big shock at first, and she fell a bit short on confidence. 

“You will go far, Ms Griffin,” Jaha spoke in a low voice, as he admired the picture once again, “You just have to believe a bit more in your talent.”   
  


She could only nod, because well. He was absolutely right, but she couldn’t help feeling this way. After having a mom that constantly encouraged her to change career paths because ‘Clarke, art won’t make you any money’ and ‘You will never be successful enough’, she guessed her words had somewhat sunk in. How could they not, when she voiced them every time they saw each other?

Deep down she knew the truth, and she knew that Jaha was right about her. But why did this man who had just met her see the burning passion with which she worked, and yet her mother couldn’t? 

Clarke was suddenly brought back to reality when the man extended a piece of paper before her, “I’ll ask someone of the staff to take it down for me,” he said, and before she could realise what was happening, he was gone. 

Wide blue eyes stared at the paper between her trembling fingers, and  _ holy fucking shit _ . Thelonious Jaha had paid her one thousand dollars more than the price she had initially asked for.  _ One thousand fucking dollars _ . 

She wanted to scream, then she remembered she was in the middle of a crowded party. But fuck it. That was a lot more money than she would’ve ever expected for her first piece, when she was essentially a nobody, and she thought that if she were to die right then, it would’ve been a happy ending. 

But just as she spotted Jaha coming back with a man she recognised from her morning shifts, she mentally cursed. He was going to rightfully take the picture home, and Bellamy wouldn’t get to see it.  _ Shit _ . 

She shouldn’t have felt disappointed — the whole point of this exhibition was to put her name out there as an artist, and she had done just that. Hell, she had done  _ a lot  _ more than that. Bellamy would get to see her art some other time...right?

It was all kind of a blur after that. As everyone apparently agreed to leave at once, she excused herself and rushed towards the restroom. She needed to gather her thoughts before going back to him, sober up a bit. Splashing her face with water wasn’t an option since she had decided to wear some makeup that evening, so she settled for the back of her neck. 

Closing her eyes momentarily, she wondered what she would tell him. What did she actually want from him? And most importantly, what did he want from her? There seemed to be some kind of tension when they were around each other, that much was evident to her. She wasn’t blind, and neither was he. But he wasn’t making a move, and she wasn’t going to jump over the edge and risk it, so there she was. Lost, tired, and a bit dizzy. 

She braced herself before leaving the safety of the empty restroom. Her heels clicking on the titled, polished floor was the only sound she could hear, and for a moment she feared they had locked her in. But just as she walked into the main hall where she had been standing before, her heart jumped. 

“I was starting to think you had left.”

She swallowed, “I would never do that,” and she meant it. As much as it feared her what she was capable of feeling, of doing, she wasn’t going to run away. Not from him.

Then she noticed he was staring at an empty wall, and when she saw the little silver plaque with her name on it, it clicked in her head. He had been looking for her picture. 

“I guess I’m late,” he gave her an easy smile that welcomed her to get closer.

She shyly waved the cheque between her fingers, “Someone bought it earlier.” 

His eyes widened in surprise, “Wow, Clarke. That’s huge. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said as she stood next to him, arms brushing. It was then when she realised they were both staring at a blank wall as if it were the most astonishing thing they had ever seen. She chuckled, “I can actually show you the rest of the exhibition. Unless you want to stare at an empty wall all night.”

He smirked, but didn’t say anything. After a few seconds of silence, she started to think she had said something wrong. Or was he really upset that he didn’t get to see her work? They could always—

In a flash, Bellamy’s hands were on her hips, pulling her unbelievably close to his own body, and before she knew it, their lips collided. At first it was slow, gentle, almost as if he was testing the waters. But when Clarke relaxed into his arms, he knew that he hadn’t misread the situation at all. He parted her full lips with his eager tongue, tangling it immediately with hers. 

Clarke couldn’t believe this was happening. Both of her hands held on his big arms, clenching onto his uniform for dear life, afraid her knees would give out if he let her go. But she knew he wouldn’t. When he captured her lower lip between his teeth, pulling gently at it yet with a roughness she had never experienced before, a small moan escaped from the back of her throat. Bellamy’s grip on her waist tightened, and he started guiding her backwards until her back hit the wall behind her. 

He detached his lips from hers momentarily, and she almost complained at the coldness she was now feeling. But soon his mouth travelled to the very sensitive spot under her ear, and she was all gone. His hands roamed down her back slowly, asking for permission, and when she involuntarily pressed herself against him again, he squeezed her ass in a way that almost made her squeak. His grip was strong, possessive, and she was all in for it. For every inch of him. For everything he made her feel. 

“Look at you,” he breathed out between kisses, “All dolled up against the wall, just like the fucking artwork that you are.”

It had only occurred to her that she was pressed up against the wall her picture had just been hanging in all evening, and she couldn’t help but smirk as he devoured her neck.

“Well, you know what they say.”

“Mm…”

“Do not touch the artwork.”

A phrase she had repeated to so many visitors over the past few months, that now had a completely different meaning. 

Bellamy grunted against her skin, tightening his hold on her, “Too bad I’m about to fuck this artwork.”

Her knees weakened at his confidence, and she let out a small whimper in response. She had wanted him since the moment she first laid eyes on him, and the burning fire inside her chest hadn’t extinguished since. She doubted it ever would. 

“You’re gonna fuck me right here?,” she teased, voice dark, and she couldn’t believe she was actually considering the idea.

He smirked between kisses, “Are you into that, Princess?”

She didn’t hesitate, “I’m into you.”

The smile on his lips was genuine, and when they touched again, it felt different. There was eagerness, a primal need behind the kiss, but now she saw something else entirely. She saw a soft side to him that deep down she always suspected was there, but it had never shone through him so clearly until now. 

“As much as I’d like to take you against this very wall,” a slight blush creeped up his neck, but his skin was so tanned she almost didn’t see it, “I want to take you out first.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and Clarke noticed his hands were back on her hips, simply holding her in place, “I’d love that.”

“Do you work tomorrow?”, she shook her head, “It seems that you have plans now.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his smugness, “Is this date going to end up at your place?”

“Only if you want to,” he told her, and she knew he really meant it. 

Of course she wanted to. Of course she wanted to spend every single second of her day with him — at a restaurant, at work, in his bed, at the grocery store, even. Everywhere. There was no use in hiding her desires anymore. 

“I do,” she smiled, and Bellamy mirrored her expression. 

He felt her sigh happily as he pressed their lips together again. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it either. Bellamy didn’t care. He had fallen for Clarke head first, and he was willing to go all the way in. He knew she would never let him crash. 

And plus, who was she trying to fool? She wanted him to touch the artwork as much as he did. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So... I’m extremely happy to tell you that I’ve finally found a prompt that I like for a long fic! It’s not going to have many chapters (I don’t think), but it’s still going to be a fic instead of a one or two shot. Can’t wait to publish the first chapter to see what you think! 💙


End file.
